


If I Had Stopped

by Miya_Morana



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's when I saw her. She was sitting at the foot of a tree, clutching her arms around her legs, her shoulders agitated by her quite sobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Had Stopped

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Le Chemin qui longe la rivière](https://archiveofourown.org/works/478486) by [MiyaM (Miya_Morana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/MiyaM)



I glanced at my wristwatch. If I didn't stop on the way – and why would I? – I had just the time to take the path along the river. I've always loved that path. It does take longer than the usual way on the sidewalk of the main street, but it is also much more beautiful.

As I walked under the trees, the sound of the water filled my ears. I watched the people as I passed by them. A young couple entwined on the grass, whispering in each other's ear, a family at a picnic table, a group of teenagers hurrying on the opposite bank... I closed my cloak as the wind rushed through it. It wasn't quite summer yet.

That's when I saw her. She was sitting at the foot of a tree, clutching her arms around her legs, her shoulders agitated by her quiet sobs. Her long green scarf fluttered around her neck, like a banner. She raised her head as I passed near her, and for a second I saw the tears running down her cheeks.

I do not know why I didn't stop. I didn't have the time, I would later try to convince myself. As I continued my route, I wondered if I would have stopped had she been prettier. She wasn't plain, though, with her brown eyes and mid-length hair. Just very ordinary. What could have made her so sad? Was it heartache? Somehow I didn't think so. The look on her eyes was one of disillusion, as if she had just realised her whole life was a lie, or that there was absolutely no one who cared about her. Maybe someone had died?

I crossed the bridge, but for once didn't even glance at the water lilies underneath it. I was lost in my thoughts. What if I had stopped? If I had kneeled next to her and taken her hand? Asked her what was wrong? Would she have stopped crying, relieved not to be invisible, to at least one person's eyes? Or would she have cried even harder, gripping my arms and bathing my cloak with her tears?

Her eyes haunted me. If I had stopped, I could have seen them without tears, for she would have ceased crying eventually. I would have helped her up, hugged her in my arms, told her everything would be all right. I could have bought her a cup of tea, or a nice, warm coffee somewhere. It would have made her some good, there's nothing better than a hot drink after a good cry. And she would have told me how her life-long best friend had betrayed her, or what she had felt when she discovered her parents had kept her in the dark about her adoption.

What if I turned around, went back to her? Would she still be there? Would someone else be consoling her? Would she have left? Would I be too late? Unconsciously, I looked at the river. The water was shallow, not more than one metre deep. That didn't totally reassure me though. There are other ways to harm oneself.

A cloud obstructed the sun, and everything seemed gloomy all of a sudden. I really wanted to turn around, to run back to her. I could imagine her surprised look upon seeing me arrive next to her, out of breath. After a second or two, her lips would stretch into a hesitating smile, and her brown, puffy eyes would light up. No words would be exchanged. I would sit beside her, maybe hold her hand, or maybe not, and my simple presence would calm her, soothe her sorrow away.

My footsteps didn't slow down. I didn't turn around. To tell the truth, ten minutes after I had left the riverside path, she was no longer in my thoughts. But on some sunny days, when a cloud passes in front of the sun, or some nights when sleep eludes me, I can see her eyes, and I wonder what happened to her. Would I recognise her, if I ever met her again? What if I did? Would I stop and talk to her? She would probably think I'm crazy, not remembering that day where our lives crossed each other. And if I told her about it, she would be embarrassed, wouldn't she. Or would she ask me why I didn't stop?

**Author's Note:**

> 8th December 2007


End file.
